Hero Complex Page 8

  “Mr. Hutchins, we didn’t know that this was Reed’s plan,” Bodhi said in a calm, measured voice. “He never told us, and we would have never asked. But we also want to respect his wishes.” It was hard not to be impressed that in front of the towering six-foot-plus Bill Hutchins, Bodhi stood straight. He didn’t even bristle.

  “Cute.” Bill’s eyes narrowed. His lips twisted in an angry smirk. “Respect his wishes all you want, but my lawyers are going to go to town on you two. The future of this family will not be determined by a pair of surf bums from Monte Vista.” Bill glared at Bodhi just long enough to make Devon more uncomfortable than she already was. She couldn’t breathe again until Bill had whirled and stomped toward the side door.

  The crowd around her began to whisper.

  Through the open door, Devon spotted an old man with a wooden cane in the garden, flanked by a man about Bill’s age. Both were short, round, with the same pug noses—a father-and-son pair, no doubt. They looked familiar, but Devon couldn’t place them. Probably another Keaton family. The old man waved Bill over.

  After a quick, hushed conversation, Bill shook hands with each of them. Devon realized she was staring. She turned away, but caught a glimpse of C.C. Tran.

  Who had Maya in tow.

  Devon’s eyes widened. Right, she realized. Those two guys were Edward Dover and his son, Edward Junior, Maya’s dad. Behind her father, Maya kept her eyes glued to the floor. Devon couldn’t blame her. Under the flowing black dress, Maya’s pregnant belly was getting too big to ignore.

  She and Bodhi traded looks. Did Eric know that Maya was here? It was doubtful, unless Eric had found some way to communicate with her. After the service, two security guards had escorted him back to a private town car and presumably driven him back to San Francisco. Devon had so many questions. But Maya stayed in the shadows, hidden behind her father. There had to be a way to get her alone.

  Cleo nudged Devon. “We have to say something to her.”

  “It doesn’t look like she can get away from her parents.”

  “Shall we sorority-girl her?”

  Devon had no idea what it meant to sorority-girl someone, but she did know that the world of this funeral—with its wealth, its privilege, and its reputations to protect—was Cleo’s, not hers. She nodded. Before Devon could protest, Cleo grabbed her wrist and led the way.

  “Maiii-ya!” Cleo squealed.

  Devon winced. The decibel levels were way too high and inappropriate. But now she understood Cleo’s strategy. Everyone would stare for a second, then turn away. Their embarrassment would guarantee the three girls a few precious moments of privacy.

  “Ohmygodddd!!” Devon tried to get her voice as high as Cleo’s.

  Maya’s face fell as they burst outside and swept her into a hug. She looked as if she wanted to melt into the garden flagstones. Overflowing with excitement, Devon and Cleo pushed her past the Dover men and C.C. Tran.

  “What the hell are you guys doing?” Maya hissed.

  Devon glanced over her shoulder as Cleo fawned over Maya’s long hair and pregnant belly. Sure enough, everyone was making a concerted effort not to look in their direction—in particular, Maya’s own family.

  “Dude, where the hell have you been?” Cleo whispered in a normal voice.

  “Eric was trying to find you,” Devon added. “What’s going on? Are your parents locking you away in some attic somewhere?”

  Maya glanced past them nervously. She swallowed and backed toward a hedge at the edge of the patio, making sure to stay safely shielded behind Devon and Cleo. “They’re going to send me away to have the baby,” she whispered. “One of those homes for pregnant girls. St. Mary’s. It’s in Montana.”

  Devon couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Were the Dovers really that unsympathetic? Didn’t they have any compassion at all? It sounded like something out of some bad Dickensian novel, not the way any normal family would deal with a teen pregnancy in the 21st century. “What about Eric? Are they pressing charges?”

  Maya bit her lip. “They’re going to stay out of Eric’s trial. Leave that to the Hutchins family. They think the baby will …” Maya trailed off as she rubbed her hands up and down her belly. “They think the baby will help heal things. Get rid of the bad blood between the families. Bring us closer.”

  Cleo hiccupped and frowned. “You mean, the Dovers want to get in bed with the Hutchinses? I thought you all hated each other. I mean, minus you and Eric. But the rest of you. And if they’re sending you to Montana, how is that going to help?”

  Devon cringed slightly. Cleo probably shouldn’t go for a refill.

  Maya shrugged. “Honestly? I think they just want me in a safe place until the baby arrives. Away from distractions and worry. Away from Eric, too. I mean, I can’t imagine what my parents feel about Eric, especially now, after Hutch …” She caught Devon’s gaze, then turned back to the lump under her dress. “But the fact remains that this baby carries both families’ blood. My dad thought—”

  “Maya, we’re leaving,” C.C. Tran interrupted.

  Devon had no idea how long Maya’s mom had been standing right behind her. It didn’t matter; the message was clear. Maya was not to associate with her old friends anymore.

  Maya ducked her head. “Sorry, guys. I gotta go.” She squeezed Devon’s hand. C.C. shot a disapproving glare at both Cleo and Devon before sinking her manicured nails into Maya’s upper arm and whisking her quickly from the garden. Maya almost tripped as she struggled to keep up. After another quick handshake with Bill Hutchins, the Dover men hurried after them, vanishing back into the house.

  “What do you think is really going on?” Cleo whispered to Devon. “This can’t be about kissing and making up, can it?”

  The answer hadn’t even occurred to Devon until she saw those final handshakes. There was no warmth in the gestures. No offering of condolences for a bereaved son over the loss of his father, no hint of gratitude for a baby on the way, nothing personal. They were the cold handshakes of a deal.

  “This is about business,” she murmured, almost to herself.

  “What do you mean?” Cleo asked.

  “What’s Maya’s dad’s company do again?”

  “Dover Industries. Pharmaceuticals. Like, in a big way,” Cleo said. She grinned and hiccupped again. “Why do I get the feeling that calling my stockbroker would be a good idea?”

  “This isn’t about uniting the two families,” Devon said. “It’s about uniting TerraTech and Dover Industries. Because there’s no way that would have ever happened while Reed was alive.”

  CHAPTER 10

  In the days following Reed’s funeral, Maya didn’t respond to any of Devon’s texts or emails. Devon had been expecting radio silence, obviously. And she had to hand it to the Dovers: instead of slinking away in disgrace, they were figuring out a way to use the unborn Hutchins-Dover child as a white flag between the families. Or were they figuring out a way to use Maya as a Trojan horse? Would the baby somehow destroy the Hutchins family and secure the Dovers’ power over some business merger?

  Did it even matter?

  Devon lay in her bed, relishing the last cozy moments under her comforter before classes that morning. She wished that she could somehow fill the queasy pit in her stomach with that same warmth. What was Bodhi up to, surfing? At his computer? Thinking about her? Thinking about the fact that he was now a multimillionaire? They hadn’t spoken since the funeral. Of course they hadn’t. Bodhi had always loved Reed like a grandfather, and now Bodhi had proof that Reed felt the same way about him. But that kiss …

  Maybe he’d just been seeking solace where he could find it. Like he kept saying, Devon’s problems were a welcome distraction, a lot more pleasant than worrying about Reed. Maybe it had been a onetime thing. Maybe he’d changed his mind. Her thoughts returned to the training Mr. Robins had given her last year: If a subject obsesses about what they can’t control, gently remind them of what they can control, and emphasize its importance. />
  Right. She couldn’t control Bodhi’s feelings any more than she could control the rain that had landed for the winter, or the frigid wind that came with it. If he wanted to get in touch, he would. Same with Maya.

  THE NEXT WEEK WAS a blur of Keaton routine: falling asleep mid-homework, waking up to the patter of rain, pulling on her mud-encrusted boots. She’d run through the rain to class, run to the dining hall for meals, and run back to her room to deal with yet another avalanche of assignments. At least she could control her GPA.

  Wednesday night, Mrs. Hadden pounded on her door. “Eleven P.M.! Lights out!”

  Devon jumped. She realized her yellow highlighter had been hovering over the same page in her US history textbook for the last twenty minutes. Okay, she was done. Unfurling herself from the pretzel position on her bed, she shook out the pins and needles running up her calf. She slipped out of her jeans and threw them onto her closet shelf.

  A slip of white paper peeking from one of the back pockets caught her eye. She plucked it from the pocket. Dr. Hsu’s prescription for Vericyl. Devon still hadn’t mentioned it to her mom; she hadn’t even had a real conversation beyond, “I’m fine, and you?” since their icy phone call about Devon’s snooping into the scholarship.

  But even with parental consent, Dr. Hsu was taking a risk writing out prescriptions for Keaton students. She’d only been at the school for a month. And with the rampant prescription drug abuse that had been uncovered last semester, it was surprising that she’d offer a new medication as a solution.

  Once Ms. Hadden’s footsteps faded, Devon flipped open her laptop and did a search on Vericyl. The site came up instantly: images of young women of various ethnicities laughing together at a coffee shop, a family sitting at the dinner table, the mother looking especially happy and calm over her roast chicken dinner. The fine print at the bottom of the screen caught Devon’s attention. FDA Approval pending. ©Dover Industries, USA.

  Devon stared at the words. How many times had she seen the Dover, Merck, Pfizer, and Lilly brands and thought nothing of it? But the Dover on this antiseptic webpage was the Dover family she knew. The living, breathing, pregnant Maya, C.C. Tran—who was so famous for marrying Edward Dover, Junior, that she didn’t need to add the “Dover” to her last name—and Edward Dover, Senior The same Edward from Reed’s journals who had arrived on the hillside with young Reed and Francis Keaton already scheming to make his fortune.

  Was it a coincidence that Dr. Hsu was prescribing a Dover drug? It was one of the big pharmaceutical companies. Maybe Dr. Hsu was trying to play up the trauma angle and increase Devon’s paranoia by deliberately prescribing a Dover drug, knowing that Devon would draw one of those silly “connections …”

  Devon groaned. Score, Dr. Hsu. Devon had just nailed a textbook example of paranoid thinking and post-traumatic stress. Maybe she should think about calling her mom and taking this prescription to Nurse Reilly. If there was a pill that could stop her from posing questions of her own whirling brain, she’d be all for it.

  THE NEXT MORNING, THE rain finally stopped. Devon found Raven meandering along a path to class, absently eating a piece of toast. Crumbs fell from her lips. Devon felt a sudden surge to hug her. It was more than just sympathy; it was also something like camaraderie and nostalgia—camaraderie with a Keaton outsider (who couldn’t care less about her morning class appearance), and nostalgia for the safe warren of the guesthouse, with her and Bodhi …

  “Hey!” Devon called, running to catch up.

  Raven raised her eyebrows while she finished chewing. Devon noticed there were dark circles under her eyes, despite the overcompensating smile.

  “I’ve been thinking about you guys,” Devon said. “I figured you’d surface when you were ready.”

  “It’s been weird. These random meetings and people all day. And then at night, Bodhi and I just … it’s just really quiet up there.” She laughed sadly. “Shit, we’d call Priscilla back if there was anything for her to do.” Raven bit the inside of her cheek and looked over Devon’s shoulder, blinking back tears.

  “I’m so sorry,” Devon said. “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Nothing for me,” Raven said with a shaky sigh. “It is what it is.”

  “For Bodhi?” Devon hoped she didn’t sound too obvious. “I mean, how’s he doing with all of this?”

  “Honestly, he’s taking it all much harder than I am. I’ll tell him you asked, but give him a few days to get his head in the right place. I gotta get to the art building before the bell.” Raven gave her a quick hug and dashed away, wiping her chin with the sleeve of her hoodie.

  Devon felt a glimmer of relief, and she hated herself for it.

  Bodhi was just grieving, which, she reminded herself, was totally normal. She had to remember not to take everything personally. That was, after all, the beginning of the slippery descent into paranoia …

  Devon spotted Cleo walking with a guy across Raiter Lawn. Who was that? He didn’t look immediately familiar. Tall, with blond hair—and then when a laugh erupted between them, the dimples. Of course: Fresh Blood. So Cleo had set her sights on the new dimpled addition to the hillside. Cleo caught Devon’s stare and waved.

  “Dev! You going to English, right?” Cleo whispered something to Fresh Blood, and he held her hand for a brief moment before jogging away.

  Interesting, Devon thought as Cleo strode across the grass.

  “We have English together, dork. Where else would I be going?” Devon called. The bell rang. Once Cleo was near, she lowered her voice. “And why am I only now finding out about you and Grant’s new BFF, aka Whatshisname?”

  Cleo linked her arm in Devon’s as they hurried the last few steps to their small classroom. “Oz,” she said. “His name is Oz. Ohmygod, it’s crazy. I mean, crazy good. I’ll tell you after class. Or better yet, let’s get the hell off campus this weekend. My place in the city. We need it. Like we talked about, remember? Before Hutch’s grandpa died?”

  “Um … that could work.”

  Cleo stopped at the classroom door. “Stop it. I don’t want to hear it. No ‘we’ll see.’ No ‘that could work.’ ” Cleo mimicked Devon’s noncommittal voice. “You are getting cabin fever, and you’re so far gone, you don’t even know it.”

  Cleo was right. She needed to get away—from this place and all its associations.

  “Okay, done. But, I’m probably going to have to visit my mom if I go into the city.” She swallowed. She was still being a hypocrite. She wanted to talk to her mom both about the prescription and about the scholarship. Keaton would follow her no matter where she went.

  “Fine,” Cleo said. “Whatever. Just as long as you promise to have a little fun.”

  Devon raised her right hand. “I, Devon Mackintosh, solemnly swear to have fun with Cleo Lambert. Because I know there’s no way in hell she’d ever let anything bad happen to me again under her watch.”

  Cleo’s lips curled in a naughty smile. “Define ‘bad,’ chérie.”

  BETWEEN DEVON’S MOM’S needing to sign a permission slip, and Cleo’s dad’s assistant submitting the right forms, Devon was impressed any of them made it off campus at all. After Friday classes, she hurried to throw a bag together before Cleo’s driver arrived. She’d just about finished when her phone rang.

  Bodhi.

  She sat on her bed as the phone rang again and again. On the fourth ring, she answered, trying to sound cheerful but not overly so. “Hey, how’s it going?”

  “Hey,” Bodhi said. His voice was hoarse, grim.

  Devon waited for him to say something more, ask a question, anything, but that was it. After an eternity, she drew in a breath. “So—”

  “Raven said—”

  She laughed, and to her immense relief, he laughed, too.

  “You first,” she said. Better to find out if he was calling with a simple question or for a real conversation.

  “Raven said you asked about me. I’m sorry I’ve been so MIA. It’s been weird arou
nd here.”

  “Please don’t apologize,” she said. “I can’t even imagine.”

  Another long silence.

  “There’s a south swell coming up from Mexico this weekend,” he said. “I’m going to head down the coast, see what I can find.”

  “Oh,” Devon said. “That sounds cool. You going alone or …” She hoped he would fill in the rest, maybe even mention he had a spare seat. Only after the words had spilled from her mouth did she remember she was in the middle of packing to go away with Cleo.

  “Yeah, you’d be totally bored. Besides, I need a few days away from this place. I need to clear my head, you know?”

  She tried to speak, but the words caught in her throat. I feel the same way.

  “But when I’m back, let’s hang, okay?”

  “Okay, cool. Have fun on your surf adventure. I’ll be in the city this weekend anyways. With Cleo—”

  “Devon?” he interrupted.

  “Yeah?”

  “If Reed hadn’t … I mean, it was kind of good there for a minute, wasn’t it? I mean, between us?”

  Devon smiled so wide, she was sure he would sense it. The afternoon sunshine pouring through her window suddenly brightened. Her hand trembled as she clutched the phone.

  “Yeah. For a minute.”

  “Okay, cool. Just wanted you to know. Our timing was kind of shitty, I guess.”

  “Yeah, timing.” Paranoia returned full force, a cloud hiding the sunset. Our timing was shitty? A past-tense thing? Was he saying that this didn’t work out? Or worse, he just wants to be friends and erase the kiss. Changing the subject seemed like the safest move.

  “Hey, since I’m going into the city, want to send me our friend Isaac’s address? Maybe I’ll do a mini stakeout or something.”

  He laughed softly. “Mmmm, you sure you’re not going to do something on your own that you’ll regret? Or rather, that I’ll regret helping you do?”